Song of Beauty
by Sienna Revan
Summary: Two unlikely comrades must hunt down the fearsome and evasive Lady Deadeyes, accompanied by a maid named Belle. *Chapter One up*
1. Prologue: Deadeyes

_DISCLAIMER: Redwall is © Brian Jacques. All characters in this story are © me._  
  
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**Song of Beauty**  
_a Redwall fanfiction by Sienna Revan  
(sienna_revan@hotmail.com)_  
  
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Prologue : Deadeyes  


  
He smiled to himself, thoroughly satisfied.   
  
It had been a good night, involving the dining chambers at the former Baron Dornquill's dining chambers and the whole lot of his peers. Between rounds of generous drink and raucous laughter they had covered everything from general politics to the idiocy of their kings to tales of rampant killings in cities not too far from their own.   
  
It had dismayed him, those accounts of a madbeast who committed the most outrageous crimes, right in the houses of the most influential beasts in the country. It had dismayed him not because he himself happened to be a beast of influence-no, but because he would rather have discussed his own conquests. Oh, nothing special, maybe the story of how his humble beginnings had involved working as an assassin for some hotshot king. He killed a good number of beasts, he thought smugly, numbering around maybe a hundred thousand. Not that he ran each and every one of them through with his own cutlass; but he did mastermind the ambush of their camps, the razing of their villages. And when an army of particularly vengeful otters finally besieged his king, he had slipped out through the backdoor and had watched the castle burn with jollity in his eyes. Ah yes, everybeast of his breed knew how to appreciate such an achievement, and would surely have celebrated him.   
  
But tonight only a name dominated the conversation.   
  
Lady Deadeyes.   
  
He could have laughed, could have thrown his head back and howled with mirth. The name brought the image to mind of a withered old gypsy, perhaps a vixen or a like specie, bent and arthritic and eyes that were dead and rotted and dribbling from empty sockets. Ah yes, funny, a classic figurativeness. On the other hand he wondered just what kind of eyes could earn a beast such a nickname.   
  
And lo and behold, he found himself looking at them.   
  
His footpaws froze in mid-step, his eyes blinking spasmodically, his jaw slack. It was just his luck to be here, in this time and place; a few hours past midnight in the dark, abandoned streets of the eastern part of the city. And she was here with him, the monster who justified the apprehension of a roomful of full-grown, hard-hearted beasts. Swallowing, he understood just why.   
  
There was an unearthly aura about her; pale and ominous and deathly, enhanced by moonlight. Glinting at her side was a curious multi-bladed weapon, held in a loose, confident grip. Though her face was swathed in shadow he could see she was nothing like the bent harpy in his mind. Rather, the dress of a noblebeast clothed her slender form, and when she moved, almost danced, in her graceful, aimless gait she seemed to be floating, floating on air. She was not advancing towards him, merely doing a little square-step as in a waltz, surging forward and then withdrawing, twisting to one side and then the other. An eerie, sinister little dance, a bit too fluid and unpredictable and too much like the movements of one deranged. And while her body moved, her eyes never left his.   
  
They were the embodiment of everything he feared, those dead eyes: empty and yet brimming, sightless and yet seeing, very well into the depths of him, past his being and past his soul. They were a color he simply could not put a finger on; all he knew was that they scared him.   
  
Completely, totally terrified him.   
  
Because there was a beautiful promise in her eyes.   
  
One to rid the world of filth like him.   
  
  
  
  
A blood-streaked sky heralded the death of yet another corrupt aristocrat, identified to be Efram Yggrias, the ermine who had once worked as a king's assassin long ago.   
  
The townsfolk had stared dumbly at the carcass littered across the street, taken by a morbid fascination. It was only when a good number of them began to retch at the sight did they finally call on the authorities to dispose of the body: five-foot strips of bone and sinew that somehow managed to get plastered to walls, doors, windows. Surprisingly enough there was no trace of the struggle that had taken place the night before. No pool of blood, no trace of it anywhere. Even what remained of Efram Yggrias was completely bloodless.   
  
And well before noon the name Lady Deadeyes was thick on everyone's tongue.   
  
  
  
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Author's note : "Song of Beauty" is my first fanfic on FF.net. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. =)  
  
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	2. Chapter I: A Distinction of Characters

_DISCLAIMER: Redwall is © Brian Jacques. All characters in this story are © me._  
  
========================  
  
**Song of Beauty**  
_a Redwall fanfiction by Sienna Revan  
(sienna_revan@hotmail.com)_  
  
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Chapter One : A Distinction of Characters  


  
Keilan Bloodpaw threaded noiselessly through the thick underbrush of Restal Woods. She was an expert at this, having accomplished her first real reconnaissance run at the age of five seasons. Twilight was well established, and there was just enough light to see what was immediately in front of her; the forest was awash in shadow, the greens faded to a dusky violet, her sharp bright turquoise eyes contrasting with her background. Pausing cautiously at the edge of a clearing she crouched low and strained to pick up a noise. Satisfied at hearing nothing out of the ordinary the ferret maid plunged on, skirting the clearing.  
  
She was making her way over a patch of mud when her brain registered a flash of steel; blinking, she found herself at the business end of a sword.  
  
Across the length of the weapon stood a tall young mouse, his eyes hard as diamond. He lifted the sword to Keilan's pulsing throat in a slow, threatening movement.  
  
"I heard you coming," the mouse said matter-of-factly. He then swept his sword arm sideways in a sudden motion, felling a nearby sapling with nary a sound. "You're dead."  
  
Keilan slumped backward, her face knotted with frustration, rubbing her throat as though he had indeed sliced it. "Ah, stuff it, cheesebreath," she mumbled, her voice dripping acid. "You just made a lucky guess I'd be here, that's all." She had known Matthew Stryfe for just two seasons: more time than she needed to warm up to the mouse. An odd distinction, considering a vermin-woodlander friendship in this day and age was virtually nonexistent. Now they were part of the same team, servicing the vermin horde Maksha; being the Chieftain Bloodpaw's daughter, Keilan played no small part in Stryfe's induction.  
  
Keilan had had her doubts, of course, the present moment being one of them. He had somehow assumed the role of her instructor despite his specie, never missing the occasion to point out flaws in her performance. Though she resented her inferiority to him she took every opportunity to learn, yet preferably without an audience. If anything it was mostly her admiration for his raw skill that forged their friendship. He was indeed an unusual specimen, learned in the arts of both the sword and the staff; he was also a fine spy and thief, an expert in assuming virtual invisibility. She once described his abilities to include being able to snatch a tooth from a beast's maw without their noticing. She boasted about him to her friends (without his knowing of course), and any of her acquaintances to object to her and the mouse's camaraderie were subjected firsthand to Stryfe's fluency in combat.  
  
Eventually the beasts of Maksha came to accept the preference of the Chieftain's daughter without question.  
  
Now Stryfe returned a less than sincere smile, sheathing his sword into the scabbard strapped across his back. "You were lumbering, Kei. Like a drunken badger. Your bones were creaking loud enough to wake the dead."  
  
Oh yes. She'd been his friend for two straight seasons, and there were times that she could not remember just why. The ferret maid's paws balled into fists, and from the look on her face it seemed that she was ready to deal the insolent rodent one across the nose. "Me bones?!" she spat, her fur bristling. "I must be deaf then, 'coz I didn't hear me bones."  
  
"It's about high time you cleaned your ears," the mouse shrugged, looking bored. When she declined to answer he studied her for a silent moment. She was a golden-furred ferret just out of adolescence; thin pink slivers were clear on her bare arms, suggesting experience in battle. She was a pretty thing, with a smirking mouth and wide, vivid sea green eyes. Noticing his scrutiny Keilan flattened her ears, looking almost worried.  
  
"Whatcha staring at, mouse?"  
  
"Your eyes look a bit wild."  
  
" 'course, because I'm the idiot ferret who decided to buddy up with a woodie."  
  
"What's _wrong."_ Stryfe gave her a look, one whose meaning she was positive was understood by only her. His flat, oh-so-Stryfey cut-the-crock look.  
  
She pouted up at him. "It's really nothing ye need to know... but there's been another killing. Me father's ol' friend, this marten Efram Yggrias. 'E was slain not too long ago... they say it was Deadeyes."  
  
Stryfe considered this new information, resting his chin on a fist. Deadeyes, huh. For weeks there had been nothing else the beasts of Maksha talked about.  
  
Lady Deadeyes was a name attached to an almost supernatural being, a codename granted by a stricken witness to one of the killings, who had seen the dead emptiness in the killer's eyes as she played the end of her blade against someone's spine. No one quite knew who or what Lady Deadeyes was, but it was said for sure that she was a monster with limitless strength and cruelty. She murdered her victims in the most agonizing methods---among them, the badger Baron Dornquill of the city of Astrel, was pinned to the door of his bedchamber by a javelin through his ankles. He was hanging limply when his wife discovered him. Apparently he was alive---barely---but rendered immobile for Deadeyes had crushed the bones of his limbs one by one. And this had been the very least of her conquests...  
  
Keilan stood, brushing past the mouse. "Let's go back and tell me dad. Tho' he won't be happy to hear about this bothersome Deadeyes again."  
  
  
  
  
  
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Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. =) As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.   
  
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NEXT CHAPTER : Things aren't so smooth between Stryfe and his fellow hordebeasts; the nature of the Maksha is revealed, as is that of their leader.  
  
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